TURK FINDS ANCESTRAL FRIENDS IN BEIRUT’S ARMENIAN DISTRICT
Hurriyet Daily News
ish-looking-lebanese-coffee-in-beiruts-armenian-di strict-2010-02-12
Feb 12 2010
Turkey
Strolling through Beirut’s Armenian neighborhood in search of Turkish
speakers is no easy task but to find out about their lives it must be
done. Rumors of bans on Turkish TV in the area attracted the attention
of our reporter, who found instead kinship and shared memories of a
faraway land as he accepted a familiar-looking Lebanese coffee
Many Turks would expect to encounter hostility in Beirut’s Armenian
district, but one who went in search of the truth about Turkish
TV being banned in the area found instead a sense of longing for
ancestral homelands.
There are many reasons for a Turk to be intrigued by the Armenian
district, Bourj Hammoud, because the neighborhood offers up much
more than any history book can deliver. Also, there are unwritten and
unspoken taboos, such as the unofficial ban on watching Turkish TV soap
operas in Armenian Lebanese households. Many happenings in the area
are visible only to those who are daring enough to step in themselves.
Turkish soaps are invading prime time slots on many Arabic TV channels,
but the residents of Bourj Hammoud are very much discouraged from
watching them and from using the advertised Turkish products, according
to residents in the neighborhood.
Most street corners in the district, however, are occupied by pirate
DVD sellers whose front rows are reserved for Turkish soaps as the
"best sellers."
"It’s not the artificial love stories or mafia-like relations we
are interested in in those [Turkish TV] shows, it’s the beauty of
Istanbul that we are longing for," says Rafi, a jewelry shop owner
in his 60s whose roots are in southern Turkey.
Apart from the soaps, most of the Turkish singers and actors are
also well-known, in particular İbrahim Tatlıses and Kemal Sunal,
whose shows have been repeatedly aired on Turkish TV channels accessed
through satellite dishes placed on most household balconies.
Unique to Armenians and Turks, the conversation on a combination of
İbrahim Tatlıses and arak, similar to Turkish rakı, can easily be
shifted to a conversation on Charles Aznavour and whiskey. Beirut’s
role in materializing this cultural richness is indeed undeniable.
While sipping the very Turkish-looking Lebanese coffee at a random
spot in Bourj Hammoud, it’s either the accent or just a feeling that
unveils the Turkish identity among the many Armenians sitting nearby.
"Our history is distancing us, but obviously Beirut is good at
uniting," whispered Sako with questioning eyes as if demanding to
know what a Turk is doing in the district.
"I’m from MaraÅ~_, well, KahramanmaraÅ~_," he said before being
interrupted by his friend sitting next to him.
"Oh you’ve made a Kahraman (hero) out of yourself now."
But Sako’s reply comes a second later, "Aren’t we all?"
Unwilling to speak about the alleged ban on Turkish TV soap operas,
their soaring words about the images of Istanbul they see everyday
seem to smoothly erode the need for any commentary on the subject.
Aromas of grilled chestnuts mixed with those of grilled sucuks and
pastırma waft through the neighborhood while its streets, named
after Turkish towns, are dominated by the sound of rolling shutters.
The scene is familiar to anyone with origins in Ä°zmir. The narrow
streets and the spice shops, complete with dried aubergines hanging
upside-down, located next to the jewelry stores, are like a true copy
of Ä°zmir’s vivid Kemeraltı district.
There are roughly 150,000 Armenians living in Lebanon, and Bourj
Hammoud is known as the "Armenian capital" of the Middle East. Most of
the Armenians settled in Lebanon during the 1920s and lived initially
in tent camps such as Camp Sanjak next to Bourj Hammoud. The camp is
now being demolished to make room for a shopping center.
The bittersweet diplomatic relations between Turkey and Armenia are
indeed reflected in everyday conversations that Turks and Armenians
have, even in Beirut, where people live primarily as if there is
no tomorrow. But the "love story" shared between the two nations
doesn’t allow for simply forgetting the past and blindly moving
toward tomorrow.
"We would perhaps be having our coffee in MaraÅ~_ or in Adana if
my ancestors hadn’t moved to Lebanon, and then I would more likely
call it Turkish coffee rather than Lebanese," said Rafi, whose words
seemed to invite a political conversation, but committing ourselves
not to be victims of the ill-fated political motives of our leaders,
silence took over the coffee shop’s atmosphere as the moment passed.